Being forewarned and aware of one’s energetic surroundings is part of the survival package, which is why every animated organism was given a sense of instinct.
Some abilities are stronger than others, but it’s like a nose or opinion: Everyone’s got one. But, just because we have this gift, just like any satellite, antennae, or vacuum, there’s no way that it can pick up everything and frankly, it’s not supposed to.
As long as we are in the human condition, we need to live and experience the human condition.
After 9/11, not one single psychic, medium, divinationist, or astrologer with any sense of decency came forward to claim that they had predicted the catastrophe and the ones that did were scoffed at so badly by the community, they were highly embarrassed and nearly blacklisted. No one can read for everyone, no one can “see all,” and most importantly, no one can see anything coming when our attention is turned to other matters. It’s kind of like having your back turned while you’re trying to balance your checkbook and someone throws a rock through your window. Maybe you may have felt a tingling of a disturbance in the Force beforehand, but the fact is when our human capacities are running on “full,” or if we’re focused, we’re going to be surprised.
And it’s those surprises that allow us to grow and be part of the race. Like any life-changing event or living without any of your worldly possessions for about a month.
I knew I was moving out of Texas from the first week I arrived a little over four years ago, but I knew there was a reason or two why I needed to be there. I also knew there were going to be some delays regarding the move out, but neither I nor any of my friends, family members, or extremely trusted psychic sources could’ve seen the shenanigans some people tried to pull.
Now, granted, I was pretty preoccupied with trying to find a place, getting the money together, working, packing, preparing Khukla for the trip, dealing with extremely stupid and greedy landlords who tried to evict my dead mother (nope, can’t make this shit up), and making arrangements, so naturally I would believe that if I hired a mover to move my stuff they would actually, you know, move it. Perhaps I was naive or just taking the Gods/Goddesses for granted because it seemed that everything was falling into place. After not knowing where I was going or how for so long and after such a tumultuously heartbreaking year I’ve had, They had made Their presences very clear within the last 3 weeks of my stay in Austin. And not only did I find a perfect place for me and the little Chicken to settle, everything I needed to make it happen was manifested with perfect timing.
“Blessed” doesn’t even begin to describe…
So, naturally, when I hired these Home Team Movers, I did not expect them to be “brokers,” I expected them to be “movers.” Okay, my oversight, fine. But as brokers, I would expect them to at least send people who actually move stuff. What they sent one guy from this Quality Moving Service (or whatever they call themselves) who forced me to sign blank contracts under duress, saying, “I can’t put anything into the truck until you sign these,” knowing that if my stuff didn’t get on the truck that day it was scheduled, my dead mother wasn’t the only one who was going to have legal problems. Fortunately, I had enough functioning brain matter to take photos of blank said contracts with my signature on them with my phone when he wasn’t looking.
After loading the truck, he doubled my price and demanded a higher percentage before he took it away. Then, he promised delivery when the check was received. Then, no that’s not what he said, he said after it cleared. Then after that it was 7 – 10 days…Apparently this is the all-too-common scam: “Let’s see how long you can stand to live without your stuff and what you’re willing to do or how much you’ll pay to get it back.” Game on.
I had stayed with a friend two nights before Khuk and I took the plane to Nevada. I had arrived, signed my lease, and took possession of my new home 28 days before I finally received my possessions. For the first 11 days, I slept on the floor with only the clothes on my back, covered only with a bath towel, next to Khuk who had to stay in his little carrier. I had no other means of communication other than my pay-as-you go TracFone, which also meant I couldn’t work. I couldn’t do my schoolwork because my books were on the elusive truck. I wore the same jeans for 13 days straight because they were all I had and yes, thank Goddess for washing machines. Khuk had no toys, I had nothing to cook with — essentially, I was camping in my own home for almost a month while my movers were “no call, no show.” My dad blatantly advised me that I should prepare for the fact that my stuff is just gone and focus on re-building my life one more time.
By the grace of Goddess and the blessings of love from my friends and family, I was sent care packages (two of which were stolen off my porch) which included an air mattress, a real blanket, a pillow, clothes, towels, toiletries, and financial assistance. It was their generosity that helped me survive and I cannot even begin to imagine what my life would be like without any of them. I am and will always be beyond grateful.
What also helped me get through this with minimal anxiety is my belief that there are no mistakes. By embracing the, “This was meant to happen,” principle, I was able to find at least some peace with the situation. I noticed I became much more proactive in connecting and familiarizing myself with my surroundings, my family became closer than I had ever seen in years — especially since after my mom died (and then was evicted) this year — I felt much more inspired to create, I felt more grateful, more humble to accept help, became more resourceful, and even got some new and better stuff, too.
But, most important, I think, was I learned to fight. Really stand my ground for the first time. True, I’ve always been resilient, but I really can’t remember the last time I pushed the “hell no” button for myself and refused to be bullied otherwise.
With the generous help of a lawyer friend, a real Southern-belle pistol, we learned that Home Team Movers, the broker, is not their real business name. Their real business entity rated an “F” with the Better Business Bureau with over 310 complaints of the same nature as my experience and these “Quality Moving Service” or whoever they really are, doesn’t have a legitimate business license — or one that we could find, anyway. (She said it’s possible that they may have one, but it shouldn’t be that difficult to locate).
This is what I posted on my Facebook page when I finally heard from them:
“Heard from the movers tonight. Said he’s going to be delivering my stuff tomorrow. Conversation went as follows:
“Hi, this is James from Quality Moving Service just wanted to let you know that I’ll be there tomorrow morning between 8 – 11 to deliver your stuff.”
“Yes…Yes, I know and I’m –“
“27 days is inexcusable.”
“Yes, I know but, it’s not my fault! I just got the call from dispatch in Los Angeles –“
“Oh, that’s rich! I hire ‘brokers’ from Florida to hire some goomba in Houston to pick up my stuff in Austin and you’re being dispatched from California. And meanwhile I’VE BEEN SLEEPING ON THE GODDAMN FLOOR! I HAVE A STAPH INFECTION! I HAVEN’T BEEN ABLE TO WORK and you guys have been sitting on MY LIFE for twenty seven fucking days I don’t care if you just got your dispatch from Christ off the cross! 27 days is absolutely inexcusable!”
*Pause* “Look, listen, I tried calling you back at your number but there’s been no answer and –“
“That was the number of my attorney! AND my father! And the police! Austin, Houston, and Vegas cops are all looking for you and my stuff –“
“Hey, I’m just the driver!”
“I don’t care who you are! You just know this: When you get here, DO NOT ASK ME FOR ONE FUCKING DIME FROM ME! You were paid to MOVE my stuff, not store it! And I am warning you now, I will NOT be alone when you get here!”
“Look, you gotta listen — “
“I’m done listening. I will see you tomorrow with my stuff.”
**Note: Actually, there’s a possibility I may have watered down what I said a bit, I don’t know. I was shaking when I was done, but that’s the gist.
Then, the texts from “Ron,” the weasel that started it all (abridged)
“Hi, this is the nice guy Ron who moved your stuff. Was in the hospital, guy will be there tomorrow have the money.”
“No. Contact my attorney.”
“I’m telling you the guy will be there tomorrow.”
“And I’m telling you that I will get my stuff and you’re not getting another dime from me. 27 days will be 28 tomorrow and this is coversion. Any further contact will be to my counsel, (insert name and number) and you and I are done.”
“I don’t know that person! I don’t deal with her. You have the money ready. Good night.”
“You deal with me, you deal with her. No more money. We’re done.”
“Tariff says allow 3 – 21 days. Good night.”
“It’s been 28 — do the math! GOOD NIGHT, INDEED”
“Business days, not weekend.”
“Contact my counsel. We’re done.”
*NOTE: He picked up my stuff on the 6th…a Sunday.
I promised my father I will not be armed, commit homicide, lop off any limbs, maim, rape, or disfigure anyone. He made me promise. I will have the police here not just for my protection, but for this James person’s. I promised the Ancient Mother I will not carve any potatoes or make any dolls, either. I’m going to take the evening to meditate and get some protection and guidance.
It’s not about the stuff anymore. We’re passed that. Because if if I’m wrong, then I’m gonna be wearing someone’s balls for earrings.”
Admittedly, I was a little embarrassed that I didn’t exercise a bit more grace in dealing with the situation, but…I was kinda mad, you know?
The next day was actually more of the same, back and forth, but I was not going to give an inch. It wasn’t until Ron tried one more time to conj-ole money out of me by giving me some bullshit discount that I concisely spelled out every action I had taken against them while they were playing “say uncle” with my life — the photos of the blank contracts that were essentially null and void as they were signed under duress, the calls to all the police departments, the call to the Attorney General, even calling him out on his lies (“…there is not a judge in the world that’s gonna believe that you pick up on weekends but don’t deliver!”) that finally he realized his lack of position and changed his very cocky tune to a much more contrite, humble whimper. I made them a final offer they couldn’t refuse: “Deliver my stuff and leave. But, if anyone dares to ask me for a single dollar more, cops are going to be called and people are going to get arrested.”
Now, some people would flog me for being so trusting and I can’t blame them for that. However, I can’t believe that there’s anything wrong with expecting someone to follow through. I believe most people would have and do. Why shouldn’t anyone expect someone to keep their word and have integrity when providing a service? That’s why there are laws to protect victims from those that don’t. I believe people who lack integrity and empathy are the exceptions, not the rule, and on that, as well as all the other circumstances that arose from this experience, I believe I made a difficult choice, not a mistake.
No doubt, that choice made my life more challenging! But, it was still my choice. Would I make the same choice again, no, absolutely not, nor would I ever recommend anyone else to follow suit. However, with everything that I had gotten out of having nothing, it’s hard to feel regret. It was pretty obvious there were much deeper issues being addressed than just having to sleep on the floor.
So, what would’ve happened if I was forewarned? That’s why we have divination, right? To be empowered with options. Truth is, I don’t think the Universe would’ve allowed that to happen. There’s something bigger, badder, and better that has much keener vision than the little 3rd eye stuck in the middle of my mortal forehead.
I’ll always trust It.